


i, the mountain, choose the moon to envy

by viscrael



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, M/M, POV Alternating, Poetry, Spoilers, suicide tw (for one scene)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscrael/pseuds/viscrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you will be twelve when you lay, curl your hand in his, and barely feel yourself mumble <em>living people are warm</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	i, the mountain, choose the moon to envy

**Author's Note:**

> tfw i had to write this for my english class lmao
> 
> @teacher sorry for how gay this is
> 
> title from if i'm by sea oleena

You will be twelve when you escape, raining so hard you think you might drown

You will be twelve when you give up on living after having forgotten your reason for doing so in the first place

You will be twelve when you bleed rusty red on the pavement and wait for death to take you, wait for the poison to spread and your heart to stop

 

 

He will be twelve when he screams, hoarse, looking like a maniac in the middle of a thunderstorm

He will be twelve when you choke choke choke try to kill him even as he barely registers what’s happening

He will be twelve when he stares, like he’s never seen someone like you, and says _I can treat your wounds_

 

 

And you will be twelve when you lay, curl your hand in his, and barely feel yourself mumble _living people are warm_

 

 

\--

 

 

You will be sixteen when you’re accused of treason against the city

You will be sixteen when you’re deemed a heretic and driven to be executed for false claims shoved down your throat

You will be sixteen when you realize people aren’t as good as you thought they were

 

 

He will be sixteen when he sends a mouse to watch you

He will be sixteen when you hear the name again for the first time in four years

He will be sixteen when saves your life and shows you the mercy that you showed him all those years ago in the middle of a flood

 

 

And you will be sixteen when you look to the light of the sun

And realize there must be a change

 

 

\--

 

 

When he falls ill, the first thing you hear is the clatter of the mug in his hand, Shattering onto the floor beneath him where he collapses, cradling his head in his Hands like it’s threatening to split open

He begs you to kill him

Begs you to make it stop the pain hurts so bad so bad so _bad_

There’s a parasite in him and the only way to make it stop is to kill him

Don’t you want to live?

You scream, cut the creature from his neck, his hair turning white

Don’t you want to be alive?

You’ve hardly lived at all, Shion, open your eyes!

His eyes fall shut

There is a snake crawling into his skin

 

 

\--

 

 

The first time you see him on stage, he is beautiful

His voice is sugar coated, honey sweet, higher than you know it is normally, a feminine allure that follows him when he’s Eve, sex appeal heavy

He wields that power over people the same way he wields a knife:

Poised, deadly, all the same affective, the bat of his eyes equivalent to the sharp end of a blade

They’re both good weapons, he says, when accused of doing such, and

He has a point, because a man is just as susceptible to doing one’s bidding for the curve of a hip as he is to a threat to the neck

When he sings, the theater goes quiet, and you know that’s the reason the auditorium is filled, that’s the reason for a crowd in a poverty-laden town

They go to forget, he had said,

People go the theater

To forget their troubles

And get lost in his voice and

You do not disagree

 

 

\--

 

He is naïve, and ridiculous, and idealistic to a fault, and he

Believes, honest to God believes, that there is anyway in Hell they would ever be Able to go against the city, to make people change their mind, to alter the way things Are and have the world see that it needs to be a better place

There is no chance of that happening, and you know there is no chance, but he does Not believe you when you tell him, and your yelling does not get the point across Any better

He doesn’t think that you know, doesn’t think that you’re aware of the white coat, And he doesn’t know about the message his mother sent you, a plea for help, and You had planned to keep it like that

Except

Then he went and found it out on his own, and now what are you supposed to do?

He makes you tea like normal and talks about how much he appreciates you and How he’s a different person for knowing you, how you bring out the best and worst In him, emotions he never would’ve felt in that god awful place, _I’m glad to have met You_ ,

And he kisses you

_A goodnight kiss_ but that’s bullshit and you both know it is

It is a goodbye kiss and you are _furious_ because how can he think that he’s just going To leave you here while he goes to get himself killed to save his little friend? And You’re _furious_ because you don’t want him to go and—

You haven’t cried in a very long time, but your mouth tastes salt

 

 

\--

 

 

_Don’t you ever give me a goodbye kiss, ever again_!

You say you won’t, still pulling yourself off the ground

_Swear it!_

I swear I won’t, you say, and that seems to soothe him finally, because he reaches Out a hand for you and helps pull you onto your feet, hand still lingering where it Presses into yours

When you slap him, it maybe doesn’t feel as satisfying as it should (he _lied_ to you, he _Kept_ something like that for you, he wasn’t going to tell you,

Was he even going to try to save her, was he just going to let her _stay there_

Without _ever telling you_ ) and he

Doesn’t stumble back but he promises he’ll never lie to you again

And admits that okay maybe that one, he deserved

_I swear here upon my battered cheek,_ he says, witty and just a little frustrating and

All the more charming for it as usual

We’re going to hell together, he says, later, later later, way later when the Hunt

Has already begun and you’re sitting in the back of a truck full of a people that don’t

Deserve the treatment they’re getting

We’re going to hell

 

 

\--

 

 

You don’t sing in front of people unless as a performance

Most of the time but this once

You make an exception, although whether it’s for him or for the

People surrounding you or

Both, you aren’t sure, but you do anyway, and it soothes the raging nerves in the

Small, cramped space, well enough for some of the crying to stop, hush the children

That don’t quite understand and the adults that do, understand all too well

That almost all of you are never coming back from this

That almost all of you will be murdered in cold blood and, if not murdered, put in a

Situation so you almost wish you had been

But not you and him

You two are coming back

You promised him you would save her and bring him back

Back to that room

 

 

\--

 

 

Your hand shakes where it holds what seems to be your lifeline right now

The only person you think you can trust lying

Bleeding

From a wound in his stomach and a wound in his leg on the ground in front of you

And the man that did this—the man that started this all—accused you of treason

Threw you out of the city

Is sitting there a few feet in front of you where you stare him down past the barrel

Of a gun, and you’ve never shot one before and you’ve never really even held one

Before now either, but there is a hot anger that takes over you, crashes like waves

Across your psyche and he begs

Begs

Begs

For his life

_Please let me live_

That’s funny, you say, I heard those same words just early today

In the basement of this building

(You will have nightmares about this, about this place, about what you do next, About the way you see more than feel the snake taking over you, completely Ignoring the way the only person you can trust is crying, pleading for you to stop, _Shion, please, don’t do this, Shion, Shion—!_ )

And you pull the trigger and the world goes silent

_I killed him,_ you say, once you finally calm down and no longer feel the snake

_I killed a human being, Nezumi, I killed him_

_Shion, it wasn’t your fault,_ he says, _you saved me, don’t forget that_

But he’s still crying

And you feel sick

 

 

\--

 

 

You don’t cry much, usually preferring to hide emotions cloaked in snark and Exaggerated anger (bitterness, resentfulness

Loneliness and a sense of dread

Love, sometimes,

Or what you think could be considered close to love)

But you don’t think you could hold tears back now even if you tried because his

Hand is shaking, his body is shaking, there’s blood

Coating the front of his shirt (and it’s not his blood)

And he shakes, shake, shakes, and unsteady, pale, _scared_ hands move up

Up until it’s pressed to his temple, and you see the way it’s locked

See the way he is dead serious

_Shion, if you really think it’s such an unforgiveable sin to take a life,_

_How would taking another help you repent?_

But you’re not sure he’s listening to you yet, because his mouth is still

Opening and closing, opening and closing,

Soundless as his lip trembles, and his eyes are violet and dull and

You knock the gun out of his hand furiously, skittering across the floor

With a harsh, harsh sound that makes him cringe

_You saved me_ , you tell him, _if you hadn’t kill him, that would be me right there_

_Look, Shion, you saved me, he would’ve killed me if you hadn’t killed him_

And you’re yelling but it seems to jar him back to reality

The life returns to those eyes and he nods, mutely

This is hell, you think

This is hell

 

 

\--

 

 

You do not kill yourself, and you get used to the sight of blood

(At least to the point that you don’t want to throw up when you see it anymore)

And things only get worse from there, rows and rows of the remnants of people

Locked up in jars like fireflies, like pretty antiques, like treasures, but

Treasures still that don’t belong to their owner, ripped away from the body

That needs them and shoved into a test tube and _experimented on_

And that’s not the worst of it

You pound on the elevator wall, scream at Nezumi, _why are you letting her die,_

_This whole time, the point in coming was to save her, Nezumi, not let her die!_

_You never cared about her at all, did you? The goal was never to save her, was it?_

_It was the Correctional Facility_

_Your goal was the Correctional Facility_

He laughs, just a little, but it’s not his real laugh; it’s just acting, and

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know it’s acting and that he’s

Lying to make you feel better

Lying to cover up his own guilt for letting her be sacrificed like this

But at the moment you’re so overtaken with grief and anger that you don’t notice

He’s not telling the truth when he says, _You’re right, Shion, this whole time_

_My only goal was to take out this place_

And you think maybe you would feel more betrayed if he didn’t save you from

Being shot in the head only a second later

(And at the cost of himself, too, he’s bleeding

Bleeding again, and you limp away with him in tow and bite your lip to keep yourself

From crying because _you can’t die, Nezumi, don’t die_ )

 

 

\--

 

Shion is crying and you are half unconscious

Your head on his lap, the world

Spinning, turning, moving too quickly—nauseous, you’re nauseous now,

Why are you moving so much? Why is the room moving so much?

You don’t even know if you’re in a room because all that you can see

Is Shion

In your line of vision, just his face, just

Shion

He runs hands through your hair soothingly but there is

Blood on you and blood on him and

Blood everywhere

 

\--

 

Red is not a pretty color on Nezumi

 

\--

 

Shion is beautiful, you think, his

Crying does nothing to change this fact, does not

Change anything

(Except

Maybe the amount of guilt you harbor

That

Maybe

Changes a little)

 

\--

 

The sky is red like it knows what you’ve just gone through,

So sickeningly _poetic_ and fitting, so, so, fitting, you think that’s the kind of

Theatrical device you would nod at in a book

_This symbolizes this_ but it does not symbolize something

Because this is not a book

And you do not nod

Nezumi gives you a kiss, only the second one

(You wanted more

But that seems unlikely now

At least for a while)

And when he pulls away his face has returned some of its color, no

Longer the ghost white that is scarred into the back of your mind

Image of a dying man in the back of a truck

He smiles, slow, and

You’ve only seen a genuine smile from him a handful of times and

It is beautiful and you maybe feel like smiling back but you can’t

Do much but stare because

_Reunion will come_ , he says

Reunion will come

 

 

\--

 

You do not look back


End file.
